


My Reflection

by Cecils_Third_Eye



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Gaston (Disney), Body Worship, Canon Gay Character, Chubby LeFou, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Established Relationship, Gaston (Disney) Being an Asshole, M/M, Self-Conscious LeFou, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 20:26:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cecils_Third_Eye/pseuds/Cecils_Third_Eye
Summary: Gaston's been known to make heartless comments in the past, but this time he took things too far.





	

LeFou eyed his reflection critically, the corners of his mouth tilted down in a dissatisfied frown. He looked absolutely _hideous_.

It was Monday, which meant that any minute now, Gaston would roll into the driveway and whisk him away to their date. It was just dinner and a movie, nothing too fancy, so LeFou had opted for a more casual look. Now, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he surveyed the white t-shirt that hung limp over his torso and acid-washed jeans that wouldn’t button, he wished he’d taken a bit more care in choosing his outfit for the evening.

He’d been large his entire life, carrying most of his weight in his stomach and butt. Normally, the extra padding didn’t bother him. But now… the t-shirt, which was comfortably over-sized because anything too form-fitting always made him feel much too _exposed_ , looked sloppy. It hung loose off his frame, lending the illusion of a massive, figureless _blob_ instead of a seventeen-year-old boy. And the jeans, which had fit perfectly well only a week or so before, made him feel like a balloon under pressure.

Squeeze any harder and he’s bound to _pop_.

With a growl, LeFou yanked the shirt up over his head and tossed it onto his bed. He had a bit more trouble with the jeans, but they soon joined the mess of clothes in the middle of his bed.

What the hell was he supposed to do _now_? Gaston would be there any minute and there he was, standing in the middle of his bedroom in a pair of dark gray boxer shorts, poking at his belly fat and watching his stomach jiggle like the surface of a river in the middle of a rainstorm.

Frantically, he yanked open his dresser and began to sort through his seemingly endless number of clothes. Leather? Too kinky. Suede? Too formal. Corduroy? Did _anyone_ actually look good in corduroy? He tossed that pair of pants onto the bed with the others, making a mental note to donate them to the local Good Will. Khaki? He considered this for a moment, before shaking his head. He needed something _black_. Black was slimming. Black was –

He pulled out a pair of black track pants, their high school’s logo printed along the length of the left leg. Hesitantly, he slipped them on, practically crying in relief as the soothing elastic waistband laid smooth over the grooves the jeans had cut into his skin.

But they weren’t flattering in the _least_. The spandex clung to his ass and seemed to magnify it tenfold, and it seemed to highlight the stretch marks on his ass and thighs. With a sigh, he discarded those as well. He was running out of time…

Ten minutes later, there was a knock on his bedroom door. Not bothering to wait for an answer, Gaston let himself in. He had a bouquet of roses in hand, and he set them on LeFou’s dresser before leaning to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek. “Hey.”

“Hey.” LeFou returned with a small smile. “I’m almost ready. Just let me fix my hair and -,”

“You’re um… You’re going in that?” LeFou knew he didn’t mean it as harshly as it sounded, but… he played with the fraying hem of his sweatshirt, the words Villeneuve Football written in bold, red letters across the chest.

LeFou nodded, “Yeah… is that a problem?”

“You just usually don’t wear sweats on date night.” Gaston hurriedly added, “Are you okay? I mean, we don’t have to go out -,”

LeFou frowned, “Gaston, you’ve wanted to see this movie for _months_. You’ve been talking about it since the trailer first aired during that _Scream_ marathon.” He reasoned, “Besides, it’s your turn to pick the movie -,”

“But you don’t even _like_ horror movies.”

“Are you just trying to get out of this because you’re ashamed of how I’m dressed?” He asked tersely.

He could admit that his sweat suit was a major step down from Gaston’s khaki shorts and blue and white plaid button down, but Gaston looked good in _everything_. He could be wearing a wet paper bag and somehow make it work. It wasn’t as easy for LeFou, who had to carefully consider style, color, material… _everything_ , really, in order to even look halfway decent next to his beautiful hunk of a boyfriend.

How could he ever hope that Gaston would understand when Gaston had never felt unattractive a day in his life?

It occurred to him that Gaston hadn’t answered, and when his attention returned to his boyfriend he found him rooting through his closet. He was holding up outfits in LeFou’s general direction, and either shaking his head and tossing them aside or nodding and placing them on the dresser, presumably for LeFou to evaluate.

“I don’t _want_ to change, Gaston. I’m comfortable in what I’m wearing _now_.” LeFou said firmly. When this did little to stop Gaston from his quest, he yelled, “Are you even listening to me?”

“LeFou,” Gaston said, his tone low and soft, as though he were speaking to a small child. “I can’t be seen in public with you, well… looking as you do. Think what it would do to my image!”

LeFou felt something _snap_ inside his chest. “You’re _image_? As what? The asshole formerly known as my boyfriend?”

“I meant as the captain of the football team and as the only senior to be voted ‘Most Beautiful Person’ three years in a row.”

“Nobody should be _that_ happy about having to repeat their senior year of high school _three times_ , Gaston.”

“Nonsense.” The older boy waved him off. “Regardless, the ‘Most Beautiful Person’ cannot be seen in public with those that are _less than_ beautiful. It’s like, a law or something. So either you change, or we stay in. I don’t know why you’re making this so -,”

“How about you take your fucking flowers and get the hell out of my house?” LeFou said, his voice deathly soft.

He thought of the hour he’d spent before the mirror, attempting to make himself look attractive for Gaston. He thought of the pain that had shot through his belly when he’d attempted to squeeze himself into those jeans, or the self-consciousness at seeing his stretch marks so clearly on display. He thought of Gaston, in all his chiseled glory, never having to experience the embarrassment he’d put his boyfriend through that night.

And he wanted Gaston _gone_.

Gaston, for his part, was standing stock still by the closet. So LeFou started the ball rolling for him. Closing the distance between them in three quick strides, he slammed the flowers into his chest so hard that several of the blood red petals broke off and some of the stems snapped. He then opened the door, pointing toward the hallway.

“You know the way out.”

“LeFou,” the older had the audacity to actually be _pouting_. “Please don’t do this. Tonight was supposed to be _fun_. We could still cuddle on the couch and watch the football game -,”

Before Gaston could even register what had happened, he was out in the hall and the door was being slammed in his face. “Get _out_!”

It was several minutes before he heard Gaston’s footsteps retreat down the hallway, and he finally allowed himself to relax. Collapsing against the door, the first tears began to streak down his cheeks. He drew his knees to his chest, hating how difficult it was to wrap his arms all the way around them.

He was hideous. And only the beautiful people got to be with people like Gaston.

\--

The resounding _slap_ echoed through the near silent hallway, hundreds of students shocked into horrified silence as they watched Belle take her hand to Gaston’s cheek.

Even Gaston, for once, seemed to have absolutely nothing to say. Thankfully, Belle had plenty to say for him.

“How _dare_ you?” She snapped, “Do you even realize how much he loves you? Do you even _care_? He’d do _anything_ for you, and you told him he was _too fat_ for you!”

“I -,” Gaston began, but Belle immediately cut him off.

“No. You don’t get to talk. You’ve done quite enough talking.” She jabbed a finger into his chest hard enough to bruise, “LeFou is a beautiful person and he deserves someone that won’t make him feel subpar because of how he looks. What the hell kind of boyfriend tears down their significant other like that? How can you claim to love him -,”

Gaston scowled, “I never said that I had a problem with the way he looks.” He bit out, “Don’t put words in my mouth, little girl.”

But Belle was far from deterred, “No, of course not. You just said that _everyone else_ would have a problem with it. Because, naturally, someone as _beautiful_ as you wouldn’t be caught _dead_ with someone as _hideous_ as him.”

“You’d best watch the way that you speak to me -,”

“Why?” She taunted, “Even an egocentric brute like yourself wouldn’t dare put his hands on a woman.”

Gaston grumbled, but knew that, ultimately, she was right. Not only was she a woman, but she was also LeFou’s best friend. If he ever wanted his boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) to get off his high horse and talk to him again, he would have to play nice. For now.

It was the first day that LeFou had been to school in almost a week, and Gaston had attempted to corner the smaller teen by his locker. Unfortunately, he shared the same homeroom with Belle, and had apparently filled her in on all the gritty little details that only served to solidify her belief that Gaston was a giant dick and _anyone_ could do better – especially LeFou.

Honestly, he hadn’t been expecting the slap. He was pleasantly surprised – it would seem the little bibliophile had more of a backbone than he’d originally thought. It would almost be attractive, if she didn’t have this nasty little habit of sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. She was casting judgement without knowing the entire story.

Gaston had never had a problem with LeFou’s weight. His lover had a very healthy appreciation for food, and even when he was thinner, had never really taken to exercise. It pleased Gaston to see his boyfriend be happy and comfortable in his own skin. There was something undeniably beautiful about someone who loved themselves exactly as they were, imperfections and all. Ninety-nine percent of the time, that was LeFou.

It was also perfectly natural for weight to fluctuate. Usually, when he’d put on a few pounds unexpectedly, it was fine. He’d just don a pair of pants with a stretchy waistband, or a shirt with more wiggle-room in the middle. Rarely, if ever, would he just throw on a ratty pair of sweatpants and the sweatshirt he’d stolen from Gaston (did he honestly think he wouldn’t notice his favorite sweatshirt was missing?) and proclaim to be ready for their date.

For someone that had always taken such pride in their appearance, that had seemed suspiciously like giving up. Like admitting nothing would look good on him anyhow, so what was the point?

Granted, he hadn’t really helped when he’d basically confirmed that he’d never be good enough for Gaston anyhow…

“Look,” Belle said firmly, snapping him out of his little reverie. “While I firmly believe that LeFou could do better – like, _a lot better_ – for some inconceivable reason, he chose to be with you. And you hurt him. _Badly_.”

It was then that Gaston finally cracked, “You think I don’t know that?”

 _That_ was enough to make Belle pause. But she quickly shrugged off her initial shock, fully prepared to return to the previously scheduled program of lecture-yelling, “Then why did you do it? Do you _enjoy_ hurting him?”

Gaston looked as though he’d been struck, “Gods, no! What kind of monster do you take me for?”

“I’m fairly certain you would not be pleased by the answer to that question.”

“Look – I just want LeFou to be happy and healthy, and confident in his own skin. Maybe I let my mouth run away from me. Maybe I didn’t present my case well. But I _never_ meant for… for…”

Belle softened a little at that, “LeFou’s mother called, a few days after the fight. She said that he hadn’t been eating, had barely managed to drag himself out of bed. I went to talk to him and he said you two had fought and I just -,”

Gaston held up a hand, effectively silencing her, “What do you mean, he hasn’t been eating?”

Belle frowned. “An unfortunate little side-effect of your fight. He’s making himself sick because he’s afraid of putting on any more weight to make himself even more unattractive – hey, where are you going?”

Gaston shoved past her and into the classroom, searching through the bustling crowd of students to find LeFou sitting in the back with Stanley. The drama nerd was attempting to get LeFou to eat a granola bar, and it physically _hurt_ to watch how vehemently LeFou was pushing it away. He had bags under his eyes that weren’t there before and his skin was a sickly palor that made Gaston’s stomach turn.

Shoving his way through the crowd, he grabbed LeFou’s wrist and hoisted him to his feet, before leading him out of the classroom. The other teen’s complaints were surprisingly mild and rather half-hearted, and not for the first time Gaston felt like an ass for not considering the damage that he could have caused.

Or worse, the damage he would be unable to correct.

\--

He pushed LeFou’s body up against a row of powder blue lockers, not even bothering to ensure that they were alone in the boy’s locker room. LeFou eyed him with blatant confusion, before his previous anger returned with a vengeance and he forcefully shoved the bigger man off. More surprising than LeFou’s little outburst was the fact that Gaston _let_ himself be pushed, even stumbling back a little from the force of the shove.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” LeFou hissed through gritted teeth.

“We need to talk.” Gaston said simply. “Now seemed as good a time as any.”

“Really? Because I think that you’ve said quite enough.”

LeFou started for the door, but Gaston’s hand caught his wrist and pulled him back. Pressing him against the lockers, his touch somewhat gentler this time, he allowed his free hand to trace the swell of LeFou’s belly. Slowly, he began to knead the flesh, moving his hand in small circles as his fingers worked the supple flesh.

Tears began to well in LeFou’s chocolate brown eyes as Gaston bent, nibbling at the soft skin of his left pectoral. The white t-shirt is so wet from Gaston’s ministrations, it’s practically transparent. Why was he doing this? He should be _repulsed_ at the sight of LeFou, not… not… he bit back a whimper as he felt Gaston’s hardness press into the meat of his thigh.

That was decidedly _not_ a reaction that screamed repulsion.

“W-Why are you doing this?” One traitorous tear snuck its way down his cheek. Gaston saw it, and, drawing back slowly from the artful wet spot he’d made, he leaned over and licked it away.

“I believe that we might’ve had a bit of a misunderstanding earlier.” Gaston whispered lowly, releasing LeFou’s wrist so that he could pull the teen’s shirt up over his head. “You are in no way hideous,” he pressed a kiss to his sternum, “or repulsive,” to his haunches, “or disgusting,” and finally, to the swell of his belly.

“G-Gaston -,” but the elder cut him off, far from finished.

With a _pop_ , he undid the top button of his jeans and slowly tugged the zipper down. “I am in no way ashamed of you, and never have been. In fact,” here, his fingers began to tease the sensitive underside of LeFou’s belly, “a meathead like me should consider himself damn lucky to land a prize like you. And don’t you dare think, for even a second that it’s actually the other way around.”

LeFou moaned, “Gaston, _p-please_ …”

“Do you know how much it hurt to hear that you hadn’t been eating?”

And suddenly, those teasing touches withdrew and LeFou was left painfully aware of his own arousal… Desperate, he reached out toward Gaston, trying to regain some sort of friction, but Gaston wouldn’t have it. “I… I just wanted to be…”

“You’re already perfect, LeFou. And if anyone, even me, makes you feel anything less – you don’t need them in your life.” Gaston said firmly. “And if that means you break up with me, so be it. But _nothing,_ and certainly _nobody_ is worth _this_.”

There was a moment of tense silence, LeFou’s heart stuttering in his chest as he took in the implications of Gaston’s words. Gaston never broke eye contact, not even when LeFou began to tremble and fresh tears poured from his eyes. “I… I don’t want to break up.”

“Neither do I.” Gaston assured gently. “But if that’s the case, you have to promise me something.”

And suddenly, Gaston was kneeling before him, mouthing the soft cotton of his underwear. LeFou was suddenly grateful for the lockers behind him, as they were a welcome support when his knees buckled from arousal. “A-Anything.”

“First, you’re gonna drink the protein shake I made this morning. _All_ of it.” The sensation of his deep, husky voice against his skin was doing sinful things to LeFou’s cock. “Second, I won’t ask that you never do this again – that isn’t fair. But I _will_ ask that, when you do, you come talk to me or Stanley or Belle. Anyone. Just… don’t feel like you have to suffer alone. Please.”

“I’ll try.” LeFou’s response was muffled around his fingers, which he’d stuffed in his mouth in a last ditch effort to keep quiet.

“That’s all I ask.” Gaston said gently, pulling away just long enough to retrieve his protein shake from his back pack. “Now, drink up.”

\--

And as a reward for drinking down every last drop of the bitter concoction, Gaston set to work proving to LeFou just _how much_ he loved his body… curves and all.

 


End file.
